


have 10 kids and teach them how to dream

by wildandfluorescent



Category: Teen Power Inc | Raven Hill Mysteries - Emily Rodda
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 14:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2584877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildandfluorescent/pseuds/wildandfluorescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Richelle, what’s up? Are you okay? Is everything okay?”</p>
<p>She shakes her head, clutching his hand tighter. “No, everything is not okay. I’m freaking out.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	have 10 kids and teach them how to dream

“Tom!”

Tom moans, trying to ignore his wife’s grip on his shoulder. She shakes him again and kicks him in the leg for good measure.

“What?” he mumbles, voice muffled by the pillows and the need to sleep. The room is pitch black and it’s certainly too early for him to be up. Or for Richelle, to be up, for that matter, especially considering her current state.

“Wake up,” she hisses, and he rolls over, blinking at the clock on the nightstand. 2:55am.

“It’s too early to be up,” he responds, and considering going back to sleep, but he knows there’d be hell to pay if he did.

Sure enough, she kicks him again, harder this time “Thomas Moysten, I swear to god-”

“Okay, okay” he whines, sitting up “I’m up.” Richelle, apparently satisfied, clicks on the bedside lamp, and turns to him. Her face is make up free and her hair is a mess from sleep, but she still looks good, because she always does. He doesn’t think that’s going to help now, though.

Richelle’s frowning in the dim light, running her hand through her hair. Which she tends not to do unless she’s really stressed, because she’s afraid of messing it up. So the fact that Richelle is willing to ruin her already messy bed hair is pretty unnerving.

Tom grimaces, reaching out to tug a hair behind her ear, but she slaps it away. Grabs it back just as quick, but judging by the way she digs her nails into his wrist, she’s not in a good mood.

“Richelle, what’s up? Are you okay? Is everything okay?”

She shakes her head, clutching his hand tighter. “No, everything is not okay. I’m freaking out.”

“About what?”

“The twins. _Obviously_.” Because _of course_ he was supposed to know that.

Actually, no, on second thought, he probably should have known that.

Now that he’s thought about it, he starts freaking out a little too, tensing up and glancing at her stomach. “Wait, everything’s fine right? I mean, they’re okay, and you’re ok-”

“No. They’re fine. Now.” Richelle pulls away from him, biting her lip. “But what if they end up like us?”

“Um,” he pauses, trying to figure out whether or not she’s insulting him. He doubts it, because otherwise she’d be insulting herself too, and Richelle’s got the best self esteem of anyone he’s ever met. At the very least, she never says anything bad about herself. “In what sense? I didn’t know we were _that_ awful.”

She rolls her eyes, running a hand through her hair again. “Not like us, I guess, although I’m going to be very upset if they tell as many bad jokes as you do. I mean,” she pauses and swallows “what if they end up having to deal with – well. You know.”

“Oh.” Because he knows. Of course he does. The stuff they went through back when they were teenagers aren’t exactly something that can be forgotten, with or without the PTSD. And he totally understands why Richelle’s freaking out now, because those experiences aren’t something he’d wish on anyone, even his nemesis. Which is Nick, probably, but Tom figures he wouldn’t want to put Nick through that again. Probably.

Richelle reaches over and shakes him, raising an eyebrow (He’s really never going to forgive Nick for teaching her how to do that). “Well?” She demands “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Tom knows he should say something, because yes, given the situation, this is something they should definitely be worrying about. He’s not entirely sure what the chances of their kids going through the same stuff they did are, but he doesn’t want to risk it. But he’s also not sure what he’s supposed to say in a situation like this exactly. Tom’s never been the best with words.

Instead, he just shrugs. “Okay. We won’t them be friends with Liz’s kids.”

Richelle narrows her eyes, and he knows that wasn’t the right thing to say. He’s really never been the best with words.

“Liz doesn’t even have kids!” She snaps, and he reminds himself that Richelle can barely deal with his jokes on a good day, let alone when she’s freaking out and eight months pregnant with twins.

“I know she doesn’t, it was a joke. A bad one, yes, but I didn’t mean it.”

“You are _not_ helping!”

He groans, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. He’s not good at this advice stuff, this helping stuff, even if it is Richelle. That’s always been Liz’s job. “What would help?”

Richelle sighs and shakes her head, as this is something he should know already. Maybe it is. They’ve know each other for most of their lives and been together for years, but he’s still unsure of what she wants from him sometimes. Mostly, he gets away with it by letting her instruct him and saying “Yes, babe” but he doubts this will be one of those times.

“You’re supposed to say that everything’s going to be alright.”

“Okay. Everything is going to be alright.”

She reaches over and shoves him slightly, eyes narrowed. “That’s not what I meant.”

Tom sighs, sitting up straighter. Normally, he’d amuse her, and they could probably bicker about it for at least an hour. But he’s well aware that it’s three am, his pregnant wife is not in the mood to bicker and needs sleep, and that he has work tomorrow. (Not that he’ll mention this though, because according to Richelle, because he works from home and draws cartoons for a living, she’s allowed to disrupt him whenever she wants to now that she’s stuck at home with him instead of working and earning money and being adored by millions. Her words, not his.)

“Rich,” he says, leaning forward to take her hands. She scrunches up her nose, clearly unimpressed, and he bites back a grin at that. She’s not going to be happy if he starts making jokes right now. “Look, okay, they’ll be fine. I mean, for one, we don’t live in what was probably the crime capital of Australia anymore. And we’re not going to do what our parents did and repeatedly let us risk our lives. Which, come to think of it, is incredibly dodgy parenting and-”

“ _Tom_.”

“Sorry. They’ll probably have better friends than we did, too. Or, at the very least, more friends. Ones with empathy. And the sense to not break into houses to rescue some cats. Or, you know, attempt to drown someone.”

Richelle bites her lip, and Tom reaches over and grabs her hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Also, they’re going to be way smarter than us.”

Richelle actually laughs a little at that, leaning forward to kiss him, cupping his head in her hands. It’s not a long one, but she tastes like raspberries (even though it’s 3am) and has always been good at this, so he tugs her as close as he can with her stomach in the way.

After several moments, she pulls away, resting her hand on his cheek, before frowning. “Now, shut up. I need sleep.”

She turns away from him, switches off the, and buries herself back under the blankets before he has a chance to say anything. Twenty-years since the day they first met, and Richelle is still managing to tell him off and get the last word.

**Author's Note:**

> Or, the story of how I was reading trash fic from a trash fandom so I decided to write trash fic for my own trash fandom. Basically I have no idea what this is. It's so trash that I didn't even read over it, so oh god, forgive any mistakes, it's 1:30am. Also, how the hell do you write fic endings?  
> Anyway, enjoy, I guess?  
> Title is from 'Starlight' by Taylor Swift.  
> For my favourite trash princesses, as always,  
> xx setsunas


End file.
